


Relentless

by paladumb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Highschool AU, M/M, autistic!sam, bobby is the winchesters' adoptive father, cas has wings!, cas is like a vigilante superhero, dean is totally oblivious to everything, i have the biggest wing kink, i'll stop, like everyone is in here, no john or mary, oh jeez, theyre deaaaad, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:04:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladumb/pseuds/paladumb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak has wings, and every night he flies above Chicago, protecting it and stopping as much crime as he can. Every day he goes to school and crushes hopelessly on his best friend and gets revenge on people that hurt his family, those he loves, and his city. Alone.</p><p>Sometimes, alone isn't enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dean and Cas: juniors  
> Sam: autistic but brilliant. 7th grade.  
> So, it’s really ambitious, making Sam autistic but I wanted to try it, just for some strange reason. If it offends anyone, please tell me or if I’m misrepresenting anyone autistic, please tell me. I’ve done research and I’ve known autistic people but I’m 99.999999% I’ll make mistakes in his character. I just wrote him as very attached to Dean and acting a lot younger than 12. TELL ME MY MISTAKES AND I WILL FIX THEM.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be and I don't know when I'll get time to upload, so those may be few and far between.

If there was one word Castiel Novak would use to describe his world, it would be relentless.

His family pushed him relentlessly. His crush on his best friend was the most relentless thing he could think of. His schoolwork was relentless.

Crime was relentless.

The news called him “the winged vigilante.” The media relentlessly pushed and pushed and pushed, tried to figure out who the hell he was, got blurry pictures of him flying and entitled them The Mysterious Winged Vigilante. They called him a ghost, they called him a bird, they called him an angel.

Dean called him Cas. Sam called him Cas. He was just Cas, no superpowers, no retractable wings, no crime-fighting vigilante.

His family called him Castiel and let him lock his bedroom door at night and climb out the window, sleepless, relentless in his pursuit of wrongdoing.

No one knew, no one saw. He was just an anonymous boy dressed in black, black wings stretched from his back, blue eyes watching relentlessly through his ski mask.

.

“Cas, you’ve been studying for an hour. Look up, man, I got something to show you.”

Castiel stretched his arms and popped his back, twisting. “What, Dean.”

“It’s my face,” Dean grinned, plopping down into the library chair across from him. “Hi.”

“Is that it?” Castiel asked dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Can I go back to studying now?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you take a break or something?” Dean asked him. “All that reading can’t be good for your eyes. It’s, like, scientifically proven.”

“And scientifically proven to be inaccurate,” Castiel told him, crossing his legs. He glanced at the clock - four-oh-five. He still had fifty-five minutes to be in the library.

“That is a lie, you are lying to me, and I am going to prove it,” Dean said. “Look, I just want to spend some time with my best friend, is that too much to ask?”

Castiel looked back down at the book, because he knew if he looked up then he’d see Dean’s big green eyes looking pleadingly at him. The guilt trip worked on him about 99% of the time.

“Caaaaaas,” Dean groaned. “Come on, I’m bored. Especially in the library.”

“I have a 200 point exam I have to study for, Dean,” Castiel said, looking up at him. “If you’re that bored, go scour the internet to prove that I’m lying to you.”

“Come on, you had all weekend and you have all night tonight to study,” Dean said, moving from his chair and sitting in the one next to Cas.

 _I really didn’t, and I won’t have time tonight, either,_ he thought, but kept his mouth shut and read the same sentence three times.

“Cas, you’ve been studying for the past week for this exam. I’m sure you’ll do great. You’ve probably studied for this exam more than I have for all my classes combined in the last year.”

“That’s not hard to say,” Castiel said.

“Rude,” Dean muttered. “My point is, you probably have that whole textbook memorized by now and you’re probably going to get 300% on this test. Just put it down and then we can talk. Remember talking, Cas? That thing you do with your mouth where sound comes out and you have bonding time with your best friend?”

“Fine, Dean, I get the point,” Castiel said, putting the book down and looking up at Dean. “So.”

“So. What do you want to talk about?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. “Anything you want.”

“How was your day?”

“Fine, I suppose. Professor Crowley’s trying to coerce me into taking AP Biology next year.”

Dean’s lip curled. “ _Professor Crowley_ can - ”

“Dean,” Castiel warned.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “I just - I don’t like that guy.”

“Nobody does,” Castiel said. “And just so you’re aware, I’m not going to be taking AP Biology next year. I’ll take AP Physics C, though.”

“Who teaches that?” Dean asked. “Is it just the normal Physics teachers, or - ”

“Yeah,” Castiel said. _I’m trying to figure out the physics of a pair of enormous wings fitting in my back. And how the hell the wings I have allow me to fly._ “I really like physics.”

“I don’t,” Dean grinned. “Sorry, man.”

Castiel shrugged again. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like some of the stuff I like, and that’s okay.” _Like you. And men. In general._

“Dean!”

Dean and Cas looked up as Sam Winchester launched himself at Dean, grinning. “Hi, big brother!”

Dean grinned. “Ugh, Sammy, no, you’re getting too heavy to get on my lap,” he said, but lifted his little brother onto his lap. “Say hi to Cas.”

“Hi, Sam,” Cas said.

Sam buried his head in Dean’s chest. “I don’t wanna.”

“Whaaat?” Dean asked. “You don’t wanna say hi to Cas?” He looked up at Cas and mouthed “ _sorry._ ”

Castiel smiled gently. “ _It’s okay,”_ he mouthed back.

“‘m scared,” Sam whimpered.

Dean drew Sam back from his chest. “Aw, come on. Cas is cool, Sam. We like Cas here.”

“Hi Cas,” Sam mumbled to Dean’s collarbone.

Dean turned him around. “Not quite. Say it to his face.”

“Hi,” Sam said at the lowest decibel he could.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said. “How are you?”

Sam didn’t look at him and turned back to Dean.

“AaaaAHHHooffff, little man, you’re getting big,” Dean gasped as his eyes widened. Sam’s knees dug in somewhere sensitive.

Castiel snickered and tried to keep his laughter.

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean said, accenting Cas’s name so Sam definitely knew it wasn’t aimed at him. “Sam, off.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“But you gotta. Be a big boy for me, yeah?”

Sam stood slowly. “Big boy,” he repeated, holding his head high.

“Yeah, that’s a man’s stance,” Dean said. “Let ‘em all know you mean business, Sammy. Give ‘em hell.”

“Grrrr,” Sam said. “Big boy.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Cas is studying Physics.”

Sam’s eyes lit up and his stance drooped at the same time.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

Sam glanced at the Physics textbook sitting on the table.

“Sam, you love math,” Dean said. “What’s wrong?”

Sam shook his head.

Dean got off the chair. “Cas, hand me the textbook?”

Cas gave it to him without a second thought.

“See? Interesting… particle… analysis thing,” Dean said. He shook his head. “Sam, tell me what’s wrong.”

“No.”

“Sam, what’s bothering you?” Cas asked gently. “Did something not make sense during class today?”

Sam jerkily shook his head.

“No? Did you have enough to eat today at lunch?” Cas asked again.

Another shake of the head.

“Did someone say something to you?”

Silence.

“What’d they say.” Dean’s voice is flat and furious. “They’re messing with the wrong person, buddy.”

“Called me something bad and kicked me.”

“Kicked you?” Dean snarled. “I’ll kick their ass. Who was it?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

“Who, Sam?” Dean snaps.

Sam recoils.

“Wait, shit, shit, shit, Sam, I’m not mad at you,” Dean amended immediately. “I’m not mad. Just tell me who it was.”

Sam looked at Castiel’s feet.

Dean turned on him.

“Dean. Come on, I would never,” Castiel said. “Sam? Would you mind telling me and Dean who it was?”

“Jake,” Sam whispered.

“Jake? Jake Talley? The sophomore? The wrestler?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t answer.

“Sam,” Castiel whispered.

Sam nodded.

Dean stood.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and opened his mouth to say more, but his phone vibrated with a text. He checked it. “I’ve got to go.” He picked up his stuff.

“Why?” Dean asked. “Stay, he listens to you.”

“My mom’s asking for me to get some specific parts of my body home,” Castiel said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He paused. “Oh, and Dean. I know you’re mad. But don’t do anything stupid.”

Dean sent him a lopsided grin that turned Castiel’s stomach upside down, even though his eyes were still angry. “Can’t promise that.”

“Dean.”

“Maybe.”

Knowing that’s the best he’d get, Castiel gently pressed one hand to Sam’s shoulder (one that he doesn’t shy away from) and left.

.

He looked up Jake Talley in the student directory once he’d walked home and his mom was done yelling at him. His bedroom door locked, he let his finger trail down the page.

.

It was ten o’clock when he finished his homework and slowly slid his window open. The chilly air seeped into his room and he let his wings rolls out of his back. He leaned forward to compensate for their weight on his back.

He glanced at himself in his mirror. Black jeans, black boots, black jacket and shirt, black gloves. Black wings.

His wingspan was probably twelve feet wide, and he had learned how to control the wings so that he didn’t knock anything off his shelves. He grabbed the ski mask and pulled it over his face so that only his blue eyes and lips showed.

_42 Lincoln Ave._

He launched out of his window and spread his wings.

It took him less than five minutes to get there. When he did, he saw Jake Talley sitting at his desk, typing something into a laptop. He had a black eye.

Castiel sighed and floated up to the roof of their house, where their satellite dish was connected. _Dean._

He found an insulated wire marked _Wi-fi_ and yanked at it. It disconnected. _Cable._ He disconnected that too. It wouldn’t be nice to leave the Talley family without phone service, but this would inconvenience them like hell.

He pushed off into the night and flew, drifting above side streets, where most crime usually happened.

He remembered being twelve years old and angry about something one day and sitting in his room when suddenly there was a loud POOF and the front of his shirt had ripped.

And there they had been. Wings.

They manifested whenever he was angry or really emotional. Then he learned to control his emotions and they stopped appearing so randomly. Then he learned that they were a part of him and he didn’t have to even think about moving them - they just did. He just moved them. It was like a brand new limb.

It took two years for him to learn to control them and fly.

One day he’d been standing in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables for his mom, when he cut himself with the knife. It had healed within three minutes. Bruises healed faster. He didn’t break his bones.

He started stopping crime at age fourteen.

By the time he was sixteen, he couldn’t remember how many people he had saved, how many times he had called 911 from a cell phone of someone who had been shot and left the air empty, how many times he had wrestled the gun out of someone’s grip, how many time he had ripped rapists away from their victims, how many times he had protected someone being beat in an alleyway.

He’d become well-known by that point, and then so many criminals stopped once they just saw him, and he wondered what they would think if the mysterious winged vigilante was really a sixteen year old nerd who loved Shakespeare and hated Jane Eyre.

He was born on September 18th, twelve when he got wings, fourteen when he began protecting Chicago, fifteen when he fell in love with Dean Winchester, and seventeen when he disconnected Jake Talley’s Wi-fi in revenge for kicking an autistic Sam Winchester.

He was relentless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has always watched out for Sammy. He gained a couple people to watch with him along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Dean's backstory but also some Jody Mills (because everyone loves Jody Mills) and some Dean-Cas-Jody sass. Again, if I got something about autism wrong, TELL ME, PLEASE.

Dean and Cas had been friends since Dean moved to Wesson, Illinois, right outside of Chicago when he was six and Sam was two.

Dean’s mother had died in a house fire when he was four and Sammy was 0.5. His father died two years after, drunk and seatbelt-less on the highway. So his godfather, Bobby Singer, had taken him and his little brother in. They shared a bedroom on the second floor for a while - Dean got the top bunk - and Bobby repaired the spare bedroom for Sam.

All Dean knew at that point was that Mommy and Daddy were gone and that he had Bobby now and Bobby made really good peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because he made them with a lot of strawberry jelly and it was really good strawberry jelly.

He was placed in Miss Beltz’s kindergarten class, in the spare seat near the window and the boy with really blue eyes.

“I’m Castiel,” the boy with the blue eyes had said.

“I’m Dean,” Dean had said. “My daddy’s dead.”

He learned soon after that that wasn’t the way you introduced yourself to someone. But somehow, it had worked on Cas, and he had stuck to Dean like glue and Dean had stuck to him like a leech. Their first fight was about who got to swing on the swing set in the playground. It lasted two minutes.

Sam didn’t talk, not really, not at all. Dean introduced him to Cas and Sam tucked his nose into Dean’s side. Sometimes he didn’t accept Bobby’s sandwiches. He didn’t laugh much and sometimes he stared off at the wall until Dean was sure he was seeing a hive of bees swarming out.

When Sam went to school, the counselors said he had autism. Dean was nine at that point and Cas knew a lot more than he did, so when he saw Cas next, he asked him what Auntism was.

“Autism, you mean?” Cas asked. (Dean nodded.) “It’s when someone’s really - they don’t respond much. Like shy, except some of the stuff in their brain just doesn’t compute.”

“Sammy’s smart!” Dean protested.

“Of course he is, I know he is,” Cas said. “Does he have autism?”

Dean nodded. “Missus Reynolds the counselor said he did.”

“So smart stuff makes sense but people don’t,” Cas explained.

That night, Dean had sat down in Bobby’s big twirly chair and looked up autism on Google and read everything he could find. Most of it didn’t make much sense to him, but he got the point: Sammy was different from the other kids.

He read up on how siblings and parents could deal with autistic kids and help them and then he spent all night printing out guides and websites that he hoped Cas could explain to him the next day. He took them in to school in his blue folder, sat Cas down in the lunchroom and began pointing at words he didn’t know and asked him to explain them.

When Cas didn’t answer, he looked up. “Cas?”

Cas was staring at him, blue eyes big but not surprised, and Dean didn’t know what it meant. “Caaaas, can you explain these words?”

“Of course,” Cas said quietly. “A pediatrician is a doctor for kids…”

It took all lunch and all recess for Cas to explain to him what everything in the websites meant, and even he didn’t know some of the words.

They asked their teacher once they got back inside what an “asperger syndrome” was.

“It’s a very intense form of autism,” she said. “People with Asperger’s have a really hard time talking to other people. Why?”

“My little brother has autism and I wanna learn more,” Dean said.

She smiled at him. “Well, isn’t that just a lovely thing for you to do for your little brother!” Her eyes flicked to Cas, and she smiled. “Castiel’s nodding his agreement.”

Dean grinned at Cas.

The summer after he turned ten, Bobby drove him out to his barn in some farm part of Illinois. They left Sam at a daycare, which Dean had protested at and had had a tantrum at.

“But I won’t _be there_!” he’d screamed. “They don’t know that Sammy doesn’t like honey or that gross blue cheese! And they won’t be able to talk to him like me!”

“Dean, calm down, you’re making a scene,” Bobby had hissed. “Dean, you’re ten, grow up. Sam will be just fine, these people know what they’re - _Dean!_ ”

Dean had extracted himself from Bobby’s grip and had run up to one of the employees. “Sammy doesn’t like honey or blue cheese,” he said, really fast. “And you can’t yell at him or else he’ll start crying and sometimes he doesn’t answer you but you have to get used to that and you can’t let any of the other kids hurt him because Sammy’s really breakable but Cas said he’s fragile because one time he tripped and broke his leg and when I tripped there I didn’t break anything and - ”

“Dean, Dean, that’s enough, these people are professionals,” Bobby had grunted, lifting Dean up and away from the bemused teenage girl. “Dean, listen. They’ll take good care of Sam, I promise.”

“I’ll make sure that we don’t give Sam honey or blue cheese. And we don’t yell at any of the kids unless they’ve been really bad and we watch them so they don’t hurt themselves,” the girl said, bending down to his level. Her name tag said _Madison_. “Okay? I’ll make sure I watch out extra for Sammy.”

Dean looked at her with big eyes and nodded.

When they got to Bobby’s old barn, Bobby had taken two guns down from the rafters. “I’m gonna be out soon, boy,” he said.

“Out? Where?” Dean asked.

“I’ve got to go pick up a car in Kansas. This is one I’ve been searching for forever and it’s up for sale and I’m going to go get it.”

“What kind of car?” Dean asked eagerly. He liked cars.

Bobby sat down on a bench. “She’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, a real beauty, Dean. You just wait.” He stood. “Now, we don’t live too far from Chicago, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“Chicago ain’t a great place. Lots of bad people run around in that city,” Bobby said. “Now, while I’m gone, Miss Jody Mills is gonna come over and take care of you and Sam.”

“Are her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches any good?” Dean grumbled, narrowing his eyes.

Bobby laughed. “Always thinkin’ with your stomach. Nah, kid, I don’t know. Never had ‘em. I do know that her spaghetti and meatballs are the best, though.”

“Oh. Alright, then,” Dean said. “So why are we out here, then?”

“So while Miss Jody is a Sheriff and she can protect the two of you just as well as me, I think it’d be good for you to know how to handle a gun. Just in case Miss Jody is out and someone bad comes knockin’.”

Dean felt petrified. It must have shown because Bobby quickly backtracked.

“No, boy, the gun is only for the very last resort. I don’t ever see you needin’ to use it. It’s just a good skill to have.”

Dean relaxed a little.

They spent the day just looking at the guns and Bobby made sure that Dean knew exactly how it worked. Dean didn’t even pick it up that day, which made him feel a little better.

(Sam was safe and sound when they went to pick him up from the daycare. He was smiling - actually _smiling!_ ) at Madison’s feet.

“I hung out with him the whole day,” she said, grinning at the adorable 6-year-old. “I think he’s warming up to me.”

Dean picked up his little brother. “Yeah, but he loves me best, dontcha, Sammy?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam muttered.

*

Dean was sitting on the front porch with Miss Jody, wearing a pair of her big shiny sunglasses and sipping a glass of lemonade out of a tall glass when Bobby returned.

“Bobby!” he yelled, running across the lawn as Bobby pulled up in a shiny black car. “Can Miss Jody stay forever? She makes her own lemonade and her grilled cheese sandwiches are so so good!”

“Thanks for watching them,” Bobby said to her. “I know Dean’s a little bit of a handful, but - ”

“Wowwwww,” Dean said. “Is that the new car?”

“Yup,” Bobby said proudly. “A black, 1967 Chevy Impala. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Nice car,” Miss Jody said, grinning.

*

Six years later, Dean was relaxing in the living room behind that front porch, lazing on the couch with Cas, and drinking the same lemonade.

“Isn’t Miss Jody’s lemonade absolute heaven?” Dean asked, tipping it back and guzzling the rest.

“Yes, it is,” Cas said, taking a much smaller sip. “Why don’t you, you know, actually savor the drink?”

“Why savor it when you can have more?” Dean asked. “Miss JODYYYY!”

“Get your own lemonade, Dean!” came from the kitchen.

“Dammit,” Dean said. “But you’re already in there!” he whined.

“I’m no servant of yours, boy,” she snapped.

Dean recoiled, terrified. “Sorry.”

Cas snickered and drank more of his lemonade. “Don’t you have an English project due Tuesday that you might want to work on?” he asked.

“It’s only Friday,” Dean said.

“You have a game on Saturday. It’ll take up your whole day,” Cas said.

“Do you know my schedule?” Dean asked.

“Someone’s got to,” Cas said. “And it’s certainly not you.” He finished his lemonade.

Miss Jody appeared with another lemonade. “You’re lucky that this boy exists, Dean,” she said, taking Cas’s glass and handing him a new full one. Dean’s jaw dropped. “You’d be two grades behind if he didn’t.”

“How come he gets more lemonade?” Dean protested.

“I like him more,” Miss Jody said.

“But you’ve known me longer!” Dean said.

“That’s actually not true,” Miss Jody said. “I’ve known Cas since he was three.”

Dean turned on him. “You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

“Yeah, his older brother Gabe used to get in all sorts of trouble. Got Cas mixed in with him.”

“I tried not to,” Cas muttered, hiding behind his glass of lemonade.

“Gabe led a raid of a candy shop once,” Miss Jody said. “I don’t know how he managed to rope Cas into working with him.”

“It was more Balthazar’s fault,” Cas groaned.

“Right, of course,” Miss Jody said. “When in doubt, blame the cousin.”

“I was ten!” Cas protested. “Balthazar was eighteen and he was cool and what _he_ wanted to do, _I_ thought _I_ wanted to do.” He glanced at Dean. “Stop looking at me like that, Dean.”

“What am I looking at you like?” Dean asked.

“Like all of your blackmail dreams have come true,” Cas grumbled.

“But they have,” Dean said. “I can’t believe I never heard about this!”

“You were out for a week with Bobby, at that barn,” Cas said.

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Dean cackled.

“Don’t you try that, boy,” Miss Jody said. “I could always tell the bra story.”

Cas glanced at Dean. “...What bra story?” he asked.

“When Dean was seven - ”

Dean shrieked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's family is more than a little bit strange.
> 
> But he loves them, and in their own way, they love him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much Winchester in this here chapter, I'm sorry to say. There's Dean and mentions of Sam, but most of it's Novak and then plot. There's Castiel background and there is a fire, a building fire, quick warning.

Castiel had lived in the same house with the same people yelling at each other in the same town with the same neighbors for seventeen years.

His brothers Michael and Lucifer, the twins, were the only people that didn’t yell at each other. They never went anywhere without the other and, Castiel was positive of it, were telepathically connected. They were serious, blond haired, blue eyed boys that didn’t function well apart, and sat together and spoke in low voices on the playground when they were seven.

Gabriel and Anna were not like Michael and Lucifer.

According to Michael, Gabriel had never shut up when he was a baby. He was always wailing, wanting one thing or another, needy and grabby. He especially loved lollipops, and was apt to crawl into the kitchen, climb up cupboards, and steal from Lucifer’s secret stash. Their mother had the final count at six times - times when she had to take Gabe to the emergency room because he was choking on another lollipop.

(By the time he was nineteen, Gabriel was opening a candy shop with their cousins Balthazar and Samandriel and always had a stash of lollipops somewhere on his person.)

Anna had gotten an ear piercing when she was nine. Castiel was seven at the time, and had a very fuzzy memory of a lot of shouting, but Gabe always told him how she had begged and begged for pierced ears, but was always denied. So she had forged her parents’ signatures, counted out her allowance, marched into Claire’s, and got her ears pierced.

All Castiel remembered was the shouting. There must have been a lot.

She ended up getting her first tattoo with Lucifer posing as her parent/guardian when she was fifteen. It was the first time Castiel could ever remember Michael being angry at Lucifer. He was thirteen, though, and remembered caring more about dealing with the enormous wings that had a bad tendency to sprout from his back whenever he got too worked up.

Dean met his family because Castiel brought him up during Easter dinner when he was six.

“What are you thankful for, Castiel?” asked his cousin Gadreel, sitting at the place next to him.

“Um, I’m thankful for God,” Castiel said first, because that was what he was supposed to say. “And I’m thankful for my family, and this beautiful dinner, and my friend Dean.”

“Dean?” Michael had asked. “You’ve not mentioned a Dean before.”

“He’s my new best friend!” Castiel said. “He moved here a couple months ago and he’s really nice.”

“That’s nice,” his mother said. “We’ll have to meet him sometime.”

A week later, Dean was staring up, dropping his jaw at the high ceiling of Castiel’s house’s entry hall. “This is your house?” he asked. “It’s like a CASTLE!”

“It is,” Castiel said.

“It’s Castiel’s Castle,” Dean giggled.

Michael and Lucifer were the first to come down the stairs.

“Hello, Dean,” Michael said. “It’s good to know our little Castiel has made a friend.”

“Cas is cool,” Dean said. “I’m Dean.”

“We know,” Lucifer remarked. “Good to meet you, Dean.”

“Who are you?” Dean inquired bluntly. “Cas says he has a lot of sibbleings.”

“This is Lucifer,” Michael said.

“This is Michael,” Lucifer said.

Dean looked at Cas. “I can’t tell them apart.”

Michael smiled primly. “It’s alright, Dean. Not many can.”

Dean met Gabe by walking under the prank doorway. He was sopping wet when he met Anna, who was then in her stage of drawing on herself.

“Gabe gotcha good?” she asked. “I’m Anna. I like drawing on myself because it’s cool and it’s NOT your place to judge me.” This statement was, of course, punctuated by intense head and neck fluctuations.

“Okay,” Dean said as she crushed his hand in a handshake while trying to establish her dominance.

Castiel winced.

*

“I’m really sorry for how I acted towards you when I first met you,” Anna laughs, ripping off the tip of her slice of pizza with her teeth, brand-new lip ring getting pizza sauce on it. “I was an embarrassing eight-year-old.”

“We were all embarrassing eight-year-olds,” Dean said, grinning.

Castiel entered the room. “I was not an embarrassing - ”

“Dude, you so were,” Dean said as Anna said, “You were the most embarrassing eight-year-old to grace this good earth - ”

“Maybe a little,” Castiel said, sitting down carefully on his couch, making sure not to get pizza stains on it. Dean lounged in an armchair while Anna sat cross-legged in the rocking chair, knitting. “What are you making, Anna?”

“A scarf,” she said. “It’s for Sam for Christmas.”

“My Sam?” Dean asked, struggling to sit up. “You’re making my Sam a scarf?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I thought he could use one, he looks pretty cold while you guys are waiting for the bus.”

“That’s so nice of you,” Dean said, visibly stunned.

“That’s a good thing to do, Anna,” Castiel said softly. His back itched, his wings aching to be free. He took a bite of pizza and focussed on the taste, trying to draw his attention away from his neediness.

*

Dean left after they had finished the two large pizzas Anna had ordered for their three-person pizza social.

“Castiel,” she said once she closed the door behind Dean.

“Yes?” Castiel asked.

“I have a question for you,” she murmured, putting down her knitting. The scarf was red, bright red, and the yarn was some of the softest Castiel knew she had.

“The question is?” Castiel asked.

“You’re spending a lot of time in your room,” she said. “And sometimes you’re not.”

“You’re being very cryptic,” Castiel said. “And that is a statement, not a question.”

“I’m being - ?” Anna asked. “I’ve checked your room at eleven o’ clock every night. And you’re never there. I never hear your door open, but your window is always open. Where do you go? What are you doing every night?”

Castiel froze. “Why are you checking my room? I lock my door and I expect it to stay locked,” he said.

“Gabe taught me a couple tricks,” she said. “Castiel, this is serious.”

Castiel stared at her. This was not what he expected to come out of this night. It was so sudden, this confrontation.

“Cas, what are you hiding?” she whispered gently.

“Nothing, I just like to sleep in my closet,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say,” Anna said. “Castiel, I’m honestly confused. Your room is empty, door locked from the inside, window open, you’re nowhere to be found, and I just - ”

“I’m the winged vigilante,” Castiel said quickly.

If he had thought longer, he probably could have come up with a better excuse. But he had kept his secret cooped up for so long, and he had just blurted it out -

“You’re the _what_ now?” Anna asked.

“The ghost, the angel, the demon, whatever they call me now, I’m it.”

Anna smiled the smile of someone who knew that what they had just heard couldn’t _possibly_ be true. “Castiel, I know you’ve had some strange phases, but this is newer - and weirder. Calling yourself a superhero? That’s - ”

“I am,” Castiel said.

Anna put her hand on his shoulder. “Castiel, I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for what’s happening, but - ”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Castiel said.

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”

Castiel tugged off his shirt, tossed it on the ground, and opened his wings. They filled the room, huge and dark and glimmering with strength. “Perfectly logical, right?”

“Cas,” Anna said helplessly. “Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.

“How - ”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.

“And you’ve been - ”

“Flying out of my window every night, doing my best to prevent crime,” Castiel said.

“But don’t you sleep?” Anna asked.

“I don’t have to,” Castiel said. “I don’t get sick. My bones have stopped breaking. I don’t - I don’t know how.”

“Can I touch them?” Anna asked, moving forward.

Castiel folded them into his back. “No.”

“Sorry,” Anna said.

“I have to go,” Castiel said. “I have to - I need to - ”

“Go save the city?” Anna murmured.

Castiel did not speak.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Anna whispered. “Castiel, there have been reports of the winged vigi - _you_ \- for three years. You haven’t been doing this since you were fourteen?”

Castiel folded his arms across his bare torso.

“Cas,” Anna said, and wrapped him in a hug, blue-tattooed arms enveloping him and crossing across the skin of his back. “Oh, God, Castiel.”

Castiel wrapped his arms back around her and buried his head in her neck.

“It’s not your job. You shouldn’t have to run around risking your life for Chicago, you’re just a _child_ ,” she cried, and she started crying, and Castiel freaked out because Anna never cried, she just looked sad and he felt her wet eyelashes dragging across his shoulder and he didn’t want to cry. “You’re only seventeen, you should be having sleepovers with your crush and falling over your feet in the hallways and worrying about homework every night, not saving a city.”

“Anna,” Castiel mumbled. “Anna, it’s okay. I’m still doing all that, just with a side job.”

“You deserve recognition.”

“I don’t.”

“You deserve more than what you have!” Anna cried, pulling back. “You have a family that hates each other, you have loneliness, you have a crappy older sister - ”

“I have a wonderful older sister, I have a slightly crazy but great older brother, I have a friends and a best friend, I have a very nice roof over my head, and I have food, Anna, what else do I need?”

“You didn’t mention Michael and Lucifer,” Anna said, raising an eyebrow over her red-rimmed, mascara-runny eyes.

“And I have them too, I suppose, although they’re not much to have,” Castiel said.

She laughed wetly, rubbing her eyes and smearing her eyeliner. “I’m just worried. Now that I know where you go, I’m even more worried.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said. “I’m fine.”

“Can I see your wings again?” Anna asked softly.

Castiel extended them, holding them out fully, and something inside him made him stand straighter, taller. Prouder, like they weren’t some sick mutation, like they were something he didn’t have to be ashamed of.

“They’re very beautiful,” she told him.

Castiel smiled.

*

They were fire truck sirens, and they pierced the air, racing to a pillar of smoke that was rising from a club in southeast Chicago.

Castiel followed them, gliding and tucking his wings in when he could, speeding through the air.

Firemen were working to put out the fire when he got there, and one had a person kicking and screaming, thrown over his shoulders in the hold he and his kind were famous for.

Castiel’s stomach dropped and he fell a few feet as he circled and saw who it was.

“No, no no no, my brother’s in there, _my brother’s in there,_ don’t you understand, he’s TRAPPED!” Michael screamed, as three paramedics held him down, thrashing and screaming. “He’s on the third floor and he’s _trapped,_ you HAVE TO GET HIM OUT!”

Castiel dove into the fire knowing it was a bad idea, but breaking through the roof anyway, because despite the fact that they weren’t close, Lucifer was his brother as well.

“Lucifer!” he bellowed, stepping as lightly as he could on the charred wood beams. “Lucifer, are you here?”

“ _Help_ ,” was the croak that whispered through the flames. “ _Please_.”

Castiel hesitated for only a second before he folded his wings into his body so they disappeared and dove through a solid wall of flames.

Lucifer was desperately huddled in a small ball in the center of the room, flames licking at him from all sides, and Castiel knew that his brother’s face was never going to be the same. “Lucifer?” he asked.

Lucifer looked up, his blue eyes reflecting the flames and full of despair, and Castiel surged forward and grabbed him.

He opened his wings and his brother’s gasp was audible as they spread, filling the flames with blue-black darkness.

There was a creak and Castiel looked up at the groaning structure, bending forward as his wings took the brunt of the falling ceiling. The pain seared through him but he flapped as wildly as he could as a spray of water washed over them, putting out the fire in Lucifer’s hair.

The last time Castiel had traveled holding a person was months ago, during another fire, and he’d forgotten how debilitating it was, carrying a much heavier human being, especially when there was blood dripping from one of his wings and there were feathers on fire and Lucifer was dead weight in his arms as he half-fell, half-flew towards the ground.

He landed right near Michael, who gave a pull and wrenched himself out of the grip of the paramedics. “Lucifer,” he gasped, “Luci, can you hear me, oh my God, say something, Luci, please, tell me you’re not dead - ” and he looked up at Castiel. “Is he dead?”

Castiel mutely shook his head and averted his eyes as the paramedics took Lucifer into their ambulance and began to treat the burns on his face.

Michael took in Castiel, still standing there with bleeding, burning wings, and he took his water bottle and put out the flames. “Is he going to be okay?”

Castiel nodded.

“Thank you,” Michael said. “You saved my brother.”

 _He was my brother too,_ Castiel thought, and folded his wings in and out - disappearing and reappearing - as the wound in his wings stopped bleeding and became a dull ache, instead of the sharp, terrible pain.

“As his brother, you are allowed to ride in the ambulance with him,” said one of the paramedics, approaching Michael warily; he had a black eye and Castiel assumed that Michael had fought, and fought hard. “We need to take him to the hospital to get his burns treated. They’re nothing life-threatening but we should get him there as soon as possible.”

Michael clasped Castiel’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, and leapt into the back of the ambulance as another paramedic closed the door and drove off with Castiel’s brothers.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer's getting better. But even with Anna's knowledge of who he is, Cas still feels alone. Dean wonders if he can change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. Complete and utter trash. I am so sorry that I haven't updated in so long. I'll try to update more often now and I'll probably update actually pretty often over the holiday break. So, merry Christmas to those of you that celebrate it, and here's your present: a long overdue, slightly random, uneventful chapter.

(D)

Dean received the call early the next morning.

“Lucifer was caught in a fire last night,” Castiel’s gravelly voice said over the phone, without prelude. “The doctors say he’s okay, but. Well, Michael’s obviously not doing so well, and we’re all worried.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asked immediately. “Were you there?”

“No,” Cas said. “Michael was. It was a club downtown, they got Michael out first, and then Lucifer.”

It sounded strained, but Dean ignored it - Cas was obviously stressed. “Do you need me over there?”

A pause. “No, I think I’m fine, but my only problem is the amount of crying that’s coming from Michael’s corner. I think this is the longest he and Lucifer have been separated.”

“What’s up with Lucifer?” Dean asked. “I mean, what has the fire done to him?”

“He’s unconscious from smoke inhalation and Michael said that there were burns all around his face,” Cas murmured. “The last thing I heard was that he’s in a stable condition.”

Suddenly there was another voice and Cas went silent. “He’s awake but fragile,” he whispered. “Michael’s going to go check on him now.”

“And the rest of you?” Dean asked.

“We’re going to wait for our turn,” Cas said. “Only one visitor at a time right now, with the state he’s in.”

Dean nodded, then remembered that Cas couldn’t see him. “Okay.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, shuffling up to him. “Who’re you talking to?”

“Cas,” Dean said. “Do you want to say hi?”

“Hi Cas,” Sam said.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said over the phone, and Dean felt a surge of something. “How are you?”

Sam didn’t answer. Dean nudged him. “Cas asked you a question.”

“Hi,” Sam said.

Cas laughed on the other end. “Hi to you too.”

Dean grinned.

Something must have happened on the other end, because Cas said quickly, “I have to go, Dean.”

“Alright. Call me if you need something,” Dean said. “I’ll see ya.”

“Goodbye,” Cas said, and hung up.

*

( C )

“Castiel,” Anna said. Her voice was dangerous as she stepped into the hospital waiting room.

“Anna, where have you _been_?” Castiel’s mother asked before he could say anything. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“I went to the scene of the fire,” she said. “It’s awful, roof’s collapsed, everything’s totally blackened, and I found this.”

She held up a dark feather and Castiel’s heart thudded wildly.

“A feather?” Gabriel asked. “Anna, it’s a feather.”

“It’s _huge_ ,” Anna said. “And it’s black. There aren’t any birds in this area that would have this kind of feather.”

“What are you suggesting?” Castiel asked, trying to keep the fury and betrayal out of his voice.

“That the winged vigilante saved Lucifer,” Michael said quietly, re-entering.

“Michael, how is he?” Gabriel asked, standing swiftly.

“He’s still sleeping, and his face - ” Michael made a motion with his own hand over his face. “It’s not - not good, but he - he’s alive, and he wouldn’t have been if not for.” He stopped and breathed. “That superhero.”

“What happened?” Gabriel wondered.

“Lucifer was on the third floor because he’s a crazy _moron_ and wanted to infiltrate the parties above,” Michael said. “I don’t know how the fire started, but suddenly someone screamed ‘Fire!’ and we were all running out. I tried to go upstairs to find Lucifer but the fire was blocking the stairs; a firefighter grabbed me and dragged me outside.”

Gabriel leaned forward in his seat.

“I tried to go back in, but the paramedics held me back,” Michael said.

“And with good reason!” Anna blurted out. “If you had gone back in, you both probably would have died. And then Castiel, Gabe and I would have lost our older brothers.”

“And then the - the _angel_ dropped in front of me, holding Lucifer. His wings were half on fire - ” Anna shot Castiel a sharp look - “and bleeding - ” Anna gritted her teeth and glared at Castiel - “but he was holding my brother. So I put out the fire on his wings and - ”

“I hope you thanked him profusely,” Anna snapped.

“I did,” Michael glared. “And he didn’t even speak to me, didn’t even look at me, just flew off.”

Anna looked murderous. Castiel was shaking.

“Can I see him?” Gabriel asked.

“I believe you can,” Michael said. “He’s in room 304.”

As Michael led Gabriel away, their parents trailing after, Anna said, without looking at him, “Castiel, I need to talk to you.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright.”

She dragged him off into a corner of the lobby and whispered, “What the hell, Castiel.”

“He would have died if I didn’t.”

“ _You_ could have died.”

“However, I am still obviously breathing, so your point is irrelevant,” Castiel said.

“Burning wings?” Anna hissed.

“You’ve seen them,” Castiel said. “They’re huge, there’s no way they would have escaped it.”

“Bleeding wings?”

“The ceiling fell in on top of us,” Castiel explained. “I used my wings as a shield.”

Anna closed her eyes. “Cas, that was very dangerous.”

“Yes, but I saved him, he’s alive and Michael’s not an empty shell because of me,” Castiel protested. “You can’t find something wrong with this, Anna.”

“Are your wings okay?” Anna asked. “How badly were they hurt?”

“I heal very quickly,” Castiel said. “Please, sister, stop worrying.”

“Castiel, I can’t stop worrying, I’m your older sister,” Anna said. “I’m always going to worry.”

“I thought that was Mother’s job,” Castiel said.

“Well, it’s mine too,” Anna said. She sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Castiel.”

“I do, Anna,” Castiel said.

*

( D )

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as he picked up the phone. “How are you? How’s Lucifer? Is he alright?”

“It’s not Cas,” said the distinctly female voice on the other end.

“Shit,” Dean remarked. “Sorry, Anna.”

“It’s no problem, Dean. My phone’s out of battery so I borrowed Castiel’s. Listen, he’s visiting Lucifer, so I don’t have much time to tell you.”

Dean sat up straighter. “What’s wrong? Is he okay? Is there something going on?”

“I need you to watch out for my little brother. He won’t listen to me when I tell him to be careful but he’s very reckless and he loves too much for his own good. Watch out for him, make sure he knows that he’s not alone and that he doesn’t - y’know, have to relentlessly pursue self-destruction all the goddamn time.”

Dean froze. There was something seriously wrong.

“And you obviously can’t tell him any of this but - goodbye!”

Dean sat there, phone against his ear until the dial tone went off.

Relentlessly pursue self-destruction? Make sure he knows he’s not alone? What was she saying? Cas was - Cas had never gone down that kind of road before, not that Dean knew, and Dean knew a lot. He was always very stable, grounded, realistic. He’d always been a happy person, life-loving and wonderful.

But now that Dean thought about it, there had been more than one time that he’d caught Cas staring frustratedly at nothing; times when he zoned out, times when he stood up to the people that messed with Kevin Tran and Charlie Bradbury, even with his small stature and thin arms. The time when someone had insulted Anna and Castiel had punched them in the face. Times when he had no regard for his own safety, gave people who asked for it everything he had.

“Dean?” Sam asked, sitting next to him on Bobby’s couch. “Are you okay?”

Dean ruffled Sam’s hair. “I’m fine, Sammy. Cas isn’t.”

“Is he sick?” Sam asked, leaning into Dean’s side.

“No, I think he’s just sad,” Dean said.

“Sick,” Sam repeated.

“No, Sam, he’s sad,” Dean told him.

“Sick,” Sam insisted, and even though Sam couldn’t read people and Dean knew it probably wasn’t an insightful comment on Cas’s mental state, but he couldn’t help thinking that sick was a good way to describe it.

“Sick,” Dean said thoughtfully.

*

Dean stared at his football jersey. He could hear the cheers of the crowd above him. _Winchester. 13. Winchester. 13._

“Hey, man, you just gonna stare at that jersey all day or you gonna put it on?” Victor asked, cuffing him on the shoulder.

Dean jolted. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t you get your ass distracted like that during the game,” Coach Latriasi said, and then pulled him aside. “Winchester. Don’t be afraid to be brutal. Tackle ‘em hard and take ‘em down fast.”

Dean nodded. “I can do that.”

“Can you do that, son?” Coach said.

“No problem,” Dean said. He thought back to Bobby’s tackling lessons. “I can do that.”

Cas wasn’t in the crowd, as far as he knew - he was still at the hospital. The Novaks were all taking turns staying in Lucifer’s hospital room as he floated in and out of sleep and consciousness after the fire. He had gotten the slot during Dean’s game and for one of the very few times that Dean could remember, he wasn’t there, at the game.

It felt weird. It felt very empty without him.

Sam wasn’t there, especially since Bobby couldn’t be - Sam didn’t do well in big crowds alone and without Bobby there, he would panic and run. He didn’t trust Cas enough to stick with him (which hurt) so Dean had none of his family there to support him.

His eyes scanned the crowd anyway as the team jogged out of the locker rooms - even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to pick out any faces, it was instinct; he did it anyway. No Cas, not that he could see.

The game went fabulously. He tackled the opposing team’s biggest linebacker, bringing him down, which was a huge confidence-booster. He made a touchdown and imagined Cas and Bobby and Sam cheering him on in the crowd, the crowd that was going wild as he grinned and lifted his arms -

“Good going, Winchester,” Coach said. “Nice job with that linebacker.”

Dean grinned. “Thanks.”

“Good goin’, man!” Victor shouted, clapping Dean on the back.

Benny ruffled his hair. “Proud of ya, brother.”

“Thanks, guys,” Dean said, grinning.

“We’re heading out to iHop in a few minutes, you wanna join?” Cole asked, leaning in.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said. “I’ll never turn down food, are you kidding, do you even know me?”

Benny laughed. “Meetcha outside.”

His teammates slowly filtering out of the room, Dean took a moment to pause and catch his breath. He’d played brutally, almost unfairly, and he knew that although his plays were within the game’s rules, the referees were tense with their need to shout something about an offense.

It made him uncomfortable.

“Good game,” said a gravelly voice behind him.

Dean spun around and grinned. “Cas!” he said, wrapping his best friend in a hug. “I thought you were watching Lucifer?”

Cas extricated himself. “I was. I shifted it off onto Anna in order to come. I’m taking her graveyard shift tonight.” He winced at his word choice. “I mean.”

Dean nodded. “How are you, man?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m better. Thank you, Dean.” He checked his watch. “I should get back to him.”

“Do you know what happened?” Dean asked. “How they got him out?”

Cas looked down. “You know the winged vigilante?”

“The guy with the wings?” Dean confirmed. “What about him?”

“He saved Lucifer,” Cas said. “Michael saw him and talked to him.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “Did he see his face?”

Cas shook his head. “No, apparently he kept it covered.”

“I would too, if I was him,” Dean said. “I mean, can you imagine what would happen if he took it off? He’d be swarmed.”

Cas looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “Yes, I’m fine."

_Liar_ , Dean thought.

"Your team’s going to iHop, right?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You want to come?”

Cas grinned ruefully and shook his head. “Lucifer.”

“Right,” Dean said, and pulled Cas in for another hug, trying to offer what comfort he could. “Stay strong, Cas,” he added into Cas’s soft black hair. “You’ll be fine.”

Cas’s arms tightened around him and Dean felt like home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie wants to be Queen of Hell and Lucifer knows who the Winged Vigilante is. Meanwhile, Dean continues to be the best friend ever and Crowley proves to be an actually okay person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm so sorry for not having updated in forever, I'm trash I'm trash I'm such trash

Castiel sat at Lucifer’s bedside. Michael was at home, sleeping for the first time in two days.

“It’s not good for him to be this out-of-sorts,” Castiel murmured to Lucifer. “He doesn’t know what to do with himself, and he won’t eat. You should probably heal faster.”

Lucifer made no reply, looking stoic and frowning even in sleep, the side of his face and neck bandaged.

There was paste on the tray table next to him, something that was supposed to be administered every four hours to help heal the burns. So far, Castiel couldn’t see that it was doing much.

“Castiel…?” came the mumble from the bed.

Castiel looked up from his fingernails. “Lucifer? Do you need something?”

His brother shifted, eyes only partly open to the dark room. “No, litt - ” He took a breath. “Little brother.” His voice was scratchy from disuse and maybe smoke inhalation. “Jus’ - just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank - thank me? What for?” Castiel asked.

“Saving me,” Lucifer said, in the tone of voice that said, “ _don’t you know?_ ” “I’m - grateful.”

“I didn’t - I didn’t save you,” Castiel said. “It was someone else.”

He had already fallen back asleep.

Castiel sat back and tried to breath. Seven counts in, four counts hold, eight counts out.

So Lucifer may have figured it out. Or he may have just seen bright blue eyes that he thought looked like Castiel’s (because they were) and Castiel may still be able to convince him that they weren’t.

Or, then again. Lucifer was the first out of all of Castiel’s siblings to hold him when he was a child, and the first thing he commented on was the eyes, the bright blue eyes, so he knew them then, knew them now, and there’s no way that Castiel would ever be able to tell him otherwise.

He unlocked his phone and stared at his meager list of contacts. His siblings, parents. Dean, his friends Charlie and Kevin.

Charlie.

_Castiel: I’m watching over Lucifer and more than a little bit bored._

_Charlie: Im up. What do you need?_

_Castiel: If you were a superhero, what superhero would you be?_

_Charlie: What brought this on_

_Castiel: I’m very bored, Charlie. And all this talk of the winged man that saved Lucifer is making me think about superheros._

She didn’t reply and Castiel sighed before feeling his phone buzz in his hand. He answered. “Hello, Charlie.”

“Hey, Cas,” she said amiably. “I think if I was any superhero - do you mean one of the Marvel superheros, or one of the ones that work for the government?”

“One of the ones that work for the government, the real ones, I guess,” Castiel murmured quietly.

“Hmm. I think maybe I would be, uh, Queen of Hell. She’s super badass and gorgeous and I look like her, so.”

“The woman with the scar tattoos around her neck?” Castiel asked. Personally, he’d always found her creepy.

“I’ve heard that they’re not tattoos - they’re actually real scars. Like, as in she somehow survived that. That’s why she’s so cool,” Charlie hissed in an undertone, like she was sharing a dark secret.

“Wow,” Castiel said. “I actually didn’t know that.” He gave pause. “That just makes her creepier.”

Charlie laughed on the other side. “Are you scared of the Queen of Hell?”

“Um, yes,” Castiel said honestly. “I’m not ashamed of it either!” he protested when Charlie laughed harder. He lowered his voice when he saw Lucifer shift on the bed in front of him. “She’s terrifying. Her secret identity is the Queen of Hell. How could I _not_ be scared of her?”

“You’re so rational, Cas,” Charlie grinned. Her tone changed. “How are you?”

Castiel sighed. “Holding in there.”

“How’s Michael?”

“The worst out of all of us. He’s not sure how to function without Lucifer.”

“And what’s all that about the winged vigilante?” Charlie asked, her voice growing excited.

Castiel tensed and told Lucifer’s story again. When he finished, he could almost hear Charlie fangirling in excitement. “Oh my Tolkien,” she whispered. “Oh my Tolkien.”

“Charlie,” Castiel said.

“Your brother was saved by the freaking Winged Vigilante,” Charlie squealed. “That guy doesn’t even get paid by the government!”

Castiel sighed again. “Charlie. I’m positive they were just seeing things.”

“I bet Michael wasn’t,” Charlie argued. When Castiel didn’t say anything and remained a disdainful silence, she added, “I’m serious, Castiel, you non-believer! What else could have gotten Lucifer out of there?”

Castiel groaned. “I don’t know, it’s just - everyone obsesses over this guy and there really isn’t much special about him, other than - ”

“Other than ginormous _wings_?” Charlie asked, her voice unbelieving. “Cas, what is up with your intense dislike of the Winged Vigilante? You’ve never hated any other superhero before, why this one?”

Castiel let his head drop into his hands. He was going to have to make something up. “I met him once,” he said, improvising on the spot.

“You WHAT?” Charlie screamed. “That’s SO COOL! Why don’t I get to have any run-ins with awesome superheroes?”

“He wasn’t much. Kinda landed in front of me while I was on a run and got all pissy that I’d seen him,” Castiel made up. “So. He could have been nicer.”

Charlie sighed. “I wish _I’d_ met him. I would have been more appreciative.”

“Charlie, you’re gay.”

“I’m not blind! Have you seen his body, the way he _moves_? Ugh, don’t talk to me.”

Castiel tried not to think about the conversation he was having. “This is verging dangerously into awkward territory, Charlie.”

“Cas, _you’re_ gay. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed him.”

Castiel pursed his lips. “You know who I notice.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t look in other places!” Charlie sounded frustrated on the other end. “Cas, I know - I know how you feel about Dean, but your pining is hopeless and you need to stop, because it’s not healthy. Be a normal gay guy.”

_I can’t be. I can never be normal._ “Well, blue eyes and lithe bodies hold no interest for me,” Castiel said firmly.

“Alright, all _right_ , he’s not your _type_ , _fine_ , Cas, leave him for someone else,” Charlie gave in. “Just - don’t be so obsessive over Dean.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “You should go to bed, Charlie.”

“If you’re not going to stop pining, then _do_ something about it,” Charlie said.

“Good night, Charlie,” Castiel said, and hung up.

.

He checked his news feed at four in the morning because there was nothing better to do while he kept watch over Lucifer.

_19 killed in store shooting_

_Woman found drugged and raped in alleyway_

_Gang violence worsens across Chicago_

_Fire on 37th Street kills 5 and leaves 8 in critical condition_

He hung his head in his hands and sobbed.

_Do you see what I can stop, Anna? Do you see what help I can do? Do you see what happens when I can’t?_

.

He dragged his feet to every class the next day. Charlie shot him worried looks and Kevin paused for a moment during AP Calculus to put a hand on his shoulder and look into his bloodshot eyes and ask “Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel breathed in, a deep breath in, deep breath out.

Dean met him at his locker right before lunch. “Cas, you shouldn’t have come in to school today.”

“I have a test,” Castiel told him. “In Physics.”

“Coming in after staying up the entire night is not the answer! Why the hell did you take Anna’s shift watching Lucifer?”

“Because I had to,” Castiel said. “Because he’s my brother and I had to.”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean said, and stepped forward and hugged him.

Castiel froze. And then slowly, slowly, wrapped his arms around his best friend and closed his eyes.

He was used to usual Dean hugs - hugs with back pounds and laughter and greetings. Man hugs. This - this was no man hug, this was a hug purely to make Castiel feel better, just to comfort him, and Castiel could barely deal with Dean hugs as it was - this was different.

“I’m just - they say he’s fine,” Castiel whispered into Dean’s shoulder, “but I’m still worried, maybe he inhaled too much smoke, more smoke than we thought? What if he’s not going to be okay - no wait - no, I’m sorry - ” and he pulled away - “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, you’ve already got a lot of pressure on you, you don’t need my baggage.”

“Castiel,” Dean said, and _God_ , Dean _never_ used his full name, “listen to me.” Cas tried to duck away from the arm on his shoulder but Dean shook him. “Listen to me. You are my best friend. And what best friends do is deal with each other’s baggage, because they want to and because they care about what’s happening. You’re not burdening me and you never will be because I know that you’re scared and you feel lonely and you need someone that will talk to you and listen to you. And let me tell you, you’re not alone, Cas. Because I’m here, and as long as I am your best friend, you’re never gonna be alone.”

Dean dropped his gaze.

Cas dropped his jaw.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, reddening. “I meant every word of that - uh - I usually don’t say that out loud but you needed it, so.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, gripping Dean’s bicep ( _stop thinking about it, Castiel_ ), “thank you.”

“No problem,” Dean said, looking up. “‘S what best friends are for.” He grinned. “Now, let’s get the hell to lunch, ‘cause I’m starving.”

.

They didn’t have the period after - 6th - together, or 7th. Dean had his Physics class 6th and his lab period 5th on Wednesdays and Castiel had his Physics class 7th and his lab period 6th on Mondays.

Except something weird happened on that Thursday the test for Unit 5 was given.

When Castiel walked in, there was a test packet on everyone’s desk as well as one of the Scantron sheets Castiel hated next to every one of them. One every desk.

Save one: his.

He dropped his backpack by his desk and walked up to Professor Crowley’s desk. “Um, Mr. Crowley? You - there’s no test on my desk.”

“I know,” Crowley said, not looking up from his computer.

“Um, could I please have one so I can take the test?”

“Nope,” Crowley said.

“Why not?” Castiel asked, and yawned.

“Because of that,” Crowley said, and stood. “Because a little bird came in and told me that you stayed up the entire night watching your brother in the hospital and haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in a good long while.”

Castiel sighed. “I’m fine, really, I can take this test today - ”

“You’ll be taking it tomorrow, during your lunch period, which is 5th, instead,” Crowley said. “What periods do you have free?”

“What should I do today while everyone else is taking the test?” Castiel asked.

“Mr. Novak, do you _ever_ stop questioning my judgement?” Crowley asked. “You’ll be sleeping, of course, catching up on some much needed rest. Now please, go sit down and put your head down and get some damn sleep because your eyes make you look like a demon.”

Castiel, properly chastised, walked back to his seat, resolving to punch Dean in the face when he next…

.

He woke up just as the bell rang, jolting up, startled.

“Did you have a good nap?” Crowley asked.

Castiel sighed, didn’t want to let him have the victory, but nodded his defeat. “Yes.”

“You fell asleep very quickly,” Crowley said. “I’ll see you tomorrow during 5th period so you can make it up.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley told him. “Thank your little friend Dean.”

Castiel hurried quickly to English, where he sat down in his seat, reached across the aisle, and punched Dean in the arm.

Dean turned to him, offended. “Ouch, Cas! What was that for!”

“What did you go telling Crowley about Lucifer for?” Castiel snapped. “I would have been fine taking that test!”

“No offense, Cas, but you really wouldn’t have been. Kevin said you almost fell asleep during Calc.”

“I didn’t,” Castiel said, and yawned, feeling actually refreshed.

Dean snickered. “Have a good nap?”

“Yes,” Castiel grumbled against his will. “Thank you, Dean. I know how much you hate him.”

“Anytime, Cas,” Dean murmured as the bell rang to start the last period of the day.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6, which is miniscule - so more of a little extra because I'm trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's worried about Cas. So he goes and confronts a teacher he hates to get Cas out of a test that he's not prepared for. It's for completely platonic reasons, he assures himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at updating. Here's a reason to love Dean.

Dean took a deep breath, his hand poised to knock at the door to room S166. He couldn’t stand Professor Crowley, the slimy douchebag, but -

Cas couldn’t take that test today. He was in no shape to get even remotely close to where he was used to getting and then he’d beat himself up over the bad grade. Dean knew how this kind of thing went. And because he was a good friend - something inside him blanched at "friend" - 

_For Cas_ , he thought, and knocked.

“Come in,” said the British accent from inside. “The door is open.”

Dean stepped inside.

“Can I help you?” Crowley asked, turning in his leather desk chair.

“Hi, yes,” Dean said. “Um. My name is Dean Winchester, and my friend Castiel Novak is in your 7th period AP Physics class.”

“Yes,” Crowley prompted.

“I was hoping you could postpone his taking your test until tomorrow, during 5th period lunch.”

“And why would I want to do such a thing?” Crowley asked and Dean barely suppressed a shiver. _For Cas_ , he reminded himself.

“Basically, Cas’ brother is in the hospital, and he’s basically in a coma after being burnt in a fire and inhaling too much smoke. And Cas took the shift to watch over him there all night last night so he hasn’t gotten any sleep in, like over 24 hours, and I don’t think he’s in any state to take a really hard unit test,” Dean blurted out, furtively crossing his fingers.

“And did Mr. Novak take this shift to get out of this test?” Crowley asked and Dean hated him so much it made his chest hurt.

“No, Cas would never do that,” Dean said firmly. “Actually - ” and he winced, remembering the actual reason with guilt - “Cas was going to have the evening shift, and he was gonna get to go home and sleep, but I was playing a football game last night and neither my little brother or my surrogate father was there to see me play so Cas came out to support me.”

“Hmmm,” Crowley said. “I do remember seeing something in the church newsletter - something about praying for our son, Lucifer Novak who is in a coma, blah blah blah. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Dean gritted his teeth and forced down the angry protest that Crowley knew nothing about what the Novaks were actually like and how Lucifer was an okay guy.

“Sure,” Dean said noncommittally.

“I will think about what you asked and maybe I’ll postpone your friend’s test,” Crowley said.

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley,” he said grudgingly, and let his fists unfold as he turned and left the room.

He did it because he was Cas' friend, he reminded himself. He didn't do it because of anything flipping in his stomach when Cas turned big blue eyes on him and he didn't do it because of Cas' grafting neck and he definitely didn't do it because he wanted to run his hands through Cas' hair sometimes.

Because he was Cas' friend.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is smart, he really is. He can speak some Spanish and he can write a B+ essay and he can do a great multiplication table. But he just doesn't feel smart, because everyone he loves is smarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not updated in a month. I am trash. Here are some plot-advancing random scenes from Dean's point of view. Also jealousy. Because who doesn't love a little jealousy.

Sam had therapy every Tuesday, and Dean always drove him down in the Impala. He didn’t trust anyone else but Bobby, and even though he’d known Miss Jody since forever and Bobby trusted her, he didn’t trust anyone but himself with Sam.

Dean had been going to therapy with Sam since Sam had been going to therapy. He started when he was four and Dean was eight; Sam had held on to Dean’s hand and had refused to let him leave the room when Bobby left.

So ever since, Dean sat in on Sam’s therapy sessions and helped him out when Meg, Sam’s therapist, needed the help.

They had gone through three therapists before finding Meg. She was a different brand of therapist - she was tough and stubborn. And unlike the other therapists, who were kind and gentle and easily pushed around, Meg was the type to take-no-bullshit say-no-bullshit. She was pretty similar to Dean and Dean guessed that that was why Sam liked her.

“‘Sup, Sam,” she said when he and Dean walked in.

Sam gave a little wave.

“How are you, Dean?” Meg asked, looking up at him from where she lounged in her desk chair in a leather jacket.

“I’ve been good,” Dean said. “I do have something that I want to ask you about, though. If you have time, towards the end.”

“Fine,” Meg said. She looked at Sam. “Let’s start with how _you’ve_ been feeling this week, Sam.”

.

“Go back to the waiting room for a sec, Sam,” Dean said, giving his brother a little push towards the waiting room. “I gotta ask Meg something.”

Meg turned to him. “Something wrong?” she asked as Sam walked slowly away, glancing at Dean over his shoulder every so often.

“It’s about my friend, Cas.”

“Both you and Sam have mentioned him, yes,” Meg said. “What about him?”

“His brother’s in the hospital and Cas seems like he’s taking a lot on himself. He’s really trying to push his limits and I don’t think it’s really safe, how he’s thinking. He’s not - he’s not pushing me away, but he only just opened up to me.”

“Mm-hmm,” Meg said.

Dean waited for her to say something.

“Well?” she asked. “So far you’ve told me that your friend has been behaving lonely and won’t open up to you as much as you’d like him to. You haven’t _asked_ me anything. You gotta be direct, Dean.”

“What should I do? Should I talk with his sister about it, should I confront him about it? What should I do?”

“Just be there for him,” Meg told him sincerely. “Meddling won’t get you anywhere, and if you confront him about it directly, he’s more likely to close down then open up. Keep reminding him that he can tell you anything and you won’t judge him for any of it. Don’t make it obvious that you’re trying to extract every last detail of his feelings from him but make sure he knows that you honestly want to know how he feels.” She smiled. “Sound good?”

“Thank you,” Dean smiled. “Thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” Meg said, and he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back to the waiting room.

Sam looked up at him, his coat on his lap. “Put your coat on,” Dean said. “We’re going home.”

Sam shrugged his coat on over his shoulders and followed Dean outside. Just as he was crossing the parking lot, his cell rang.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted. “‘Sup?”

“A pillow, Dean? Really?” Cas asked, surly.

“Hey now,” Dean said. “That is supposed to be a therapeutic pillow, and it’s supposed to help you sleep.”

“You really, really, shouldn’t be doing this,” Cas said.

“Bobby had an extra one lying around, and I only use one, so,” Dean said. It actually wasn’t a lie - Bobby used to use pillows like that but one day they just sort of stopped working for him and he stuffed it in the closet. Dean had found it while cleaning it one day.

Cas sighed, long-suffering. “Thank you, Dean,” he said as Dean got into the car and Sam settled in the backseat. “Are you _driving_?”

Dean laughed. “No, I’m way too careful with my baby for that,” he grinned, starting the car. “I’ll see you later, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said gravely. “Drive safely.” He hung up.

Dean shook his head and glanced at Sam, who was staring blankly out the window. “Hey Sam, you want to stop anywhere while we’re out?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Well, tell me if ya do,” Dean added, and pulled out of the parking space.

.

“I want to learn to code,” is what Sam woke Dean up in the middle of the night with. His huge hazel eyes stared down at Dean in the dim.

“Dude,” Dean groaned. “It couldn’t have waited ‘til tomorrow?” He checked his alarm clock. “It’s fuck-it-all-o’clock in the morning.” He glanced at Sam. “Don’t tell Uncle Bobby I said that word.”

“Code, Dean,” Sam demanded.

“At a more reasonable hour, Sam,” Dean whined into his pillow. “Just wait.”

“Now,” Sam said, stomping his foot.

Damn, he loved the kid, but Sam had unreasonable demands in the middle of the night every week, and whenever he woke Dean up with them, he was bratty as all get out. He tried to give in only to Sam’s reasonable demands, because he didn’t want to spoil his little brother, but Sam was a stubborn little shit when he wanted to be.

“No, Sam,” Dean said. “In the morning. Or ask someone during school. Just not now.”

“Dean,” Sam said. “Deeeeeeean.” He poked him, once for every “Dean”.

“Fine!” Dean said, sitting up and throwing off the covers. “I guess I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

He blearily turned on the computer. Sam stared at the bright screen attentively, not even squinting at the sudden flash of bright in their dark.

Dean typed “computer coding” into Google and stood up. “Go to town, Sam,” he said. “Don’t click on the ads.”

Thankfully, Sam hadn’t clicked on the ads by the time Dean woke up, although he had created a game on some website.

“Looks cool, Sam,” Dean said. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Look, Dean,” Sam said, “it’s a maze.”

Dean watched his little brother type in code and move a tiny dot through the maze. “Neat-o,” he said, and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “You gotta get ready for school, little brother.”

Sam didn’t pay attention, just kept editing his code.

“Sam,” Dean said. “Sam, get up and get ready.”

It took ages for Sam to finally get dressed, and then they were running late, and Dean went above the speed limit in his car to get them there. He got a late pass from the main office, citing Sam having a “headache” and dropped him off at his classroom.

He rushed into his study hall. Cas looked up at him as Dean dropped into his seat.

“Hello, Dean,” he said quietly. “Long night?”

“Sam wanted to learn code,” Dean said. “At fuck-it-all o’clock in the morning.”

“I am sorry,” Cas said. “Are you tired?”

“Dead,” Dean said. “How’d the pillow work for you?”

Cas shrugged. “Well.”

“Good to know,” Dean said. “‘M glad you slept well, at least.”

“You can sleep now, if you want,” Cas said. “I’ll wake you up at the bell.”

“You’re an angel, Cas,” Dean grunted.

Funny thing was, as he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard Cas mutter, “If only you knew.”

Before Dean could ask what it was he didn’t know, he was asleep.

.

Dean pulled his coat tighter around him as he walked to the nearby free library. Cas had promised to show him how to do Calculus there after his football practice, but it was cold and the wind was biting his ears off.

He stepped through the automatic doors and looked around, feeling wildly out of place in his varsity jacket amidst the quiet and all the books.

_This is Cas’s favorite place_ , he thought and stepped forward, looking around for the messy black hair of his best friend. When he did see him, he stopped cold.

Cas was sitting next to a taller, blond man, who was grinning at him as Cas pointed to things in some Calculus textbook. Dean’s hands clenched into fists as he picked up Cas’s next words - “hey, stop that, I’m trying to teach you Calculus,” and the way they were easy around each other, shoulders brushing.

Dean wasn’t jealous, he knew Cas was allowed to teach other students, but the way he and Blond Boy seemed to know each other chilled his blood and made his teeth grit together - he was the only one Cas was allowed to tutor, Cas was _his_ Calculus tutor, not some pretentious guy wearing a stupid v-neck.

(So yeah, he was jealous. Just a little.)

“No, Balth, Dean should be here soon, we should finish this chapter - ” Cas was saying, and then he looked up and saw Dean and beamed, and that made Dean feel better. He waved him over and Dean’s legs moved stiffly.

“Who’re you?” Dean asked Blond Boy, and wow that came out more hostile than he expected.

Cas frowned at him but Blond Boy smirked. “Claiming territory?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“What?” Cas asked.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m just leaving,” Blond Boy said. “I’m Balthazar.”

Dean felt himself visibly relaxing, and he tried not to show it, but the tension flowed away. “Cas’s cousin Balthazar?”

“That’s right,” Balthazar smirked, and Dean wanted stories, so many stories, but Balthazar had only seen him for two seconds and he _knew_ , didn't he, already knew way too much about Dean for Dean’s liking, so Dean said, “Bye then,” and Balthazar started to pick up his stuff.

Cas turned. “You haven’t finished the chapter yet!” he protested and Balthazar laughed and ruffled his hair. Cas ducked away.

“It really doesn’t matter, Cassie,” he said.

“Don’t call me Cassie,” Cas said.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please,” Balthazar grinned. “Because you’re my baby cousin that followed me into the sweets shop.”

“You promised you wouldn’t talk about that ever again,” Cas said, looking betrayed.

“I do want to hear this story,” Dean said. “Talk, Balthazar.”

Balthazar looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. “Well, when he was - ”

“ _No,_ ” Cas growled, his voice going super deep, and he stood up and pushed Balthazar. Dean assumed he was trying to force him away, but he must have pushed too hard, because Balthazar ended up on the floor and Cas ended up backing away with his hands outstretched. “Balthazar,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“No problem, Cassie,” Balthazar said airily, picking himself up off the ground. “I assume you’re stronger than I imagined you to be.”

“Really,” Cas said, and was he about to cry?

“It’s fine,” Balthazar comforted. “Stop being so emotional, Cassie, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll see you, then?”

“Okay,” Cas whispered.

He walked away and Cas looked heartbroken.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “He’s not hurt or anything, he took it fine, you just pushed a little too hard.”

“But what if it happens again? To you? To Sam?” Cas said, and he was taking this way more seriously than he needed to.

Dean voiced it. “You’re taking his way more seriously than you need to,” he said. “It’s fine, Cas. Calm down.”

Cas looked at him, and he did that searching-gaze thing that he did, staring into Dean’s eyes for a period of time until it made him uncomfortable. “Alright,” he finally said, and looked away, blushing slightly and Dean watched the pink on his cheeks fade. “What did you need help with?”

Dean paused and sat down, shrugging off his jacket. “...everything.”

Cas laughed weakly and opened the book. His hands were shaking.

Yeah, something was definitely very wrong, if pushing Balthazar on the ground gave him this reaction.

“Let’s start with derivatives.”

.

When Dean got home, Sam was on the computer again, scrolling through code on a sidebar, the rest of the screen taken up by a crudely-formatted website.

“That’s so neat, Sam,” he said, and Sam nodded absently and focused on what he was doing.

Dean sighed and accepted that everyone he knew was going to end up being far, far smarter than him and fell asleep in his jeans.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is finally recovering. Meanwhile, aliens are attacking Chicago and Death don't want Castiel to join the God Brigade, whatever that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope posting this sooner after chapter 7 feels good! I hope you like it! Find me at punk-impala.tumblr.com (I've changed my url)

Lucifer woke up on Friday, for good, with Michael sleeping fitfully in the chair next to him. Castiel was in school at that point, but during his physics class, Crowley got a call.

“Crowley, S166.”

There was a pause and then Crowley looked up and locked eyes with Castiel. “Yes, he is… alright. I will. Thank you.”

“Mr. Novak. Seems as though your brother’s awake in the hospital and asking for you.”

Castiel banged his knees on the underside of his desk and toppled it. What was up with him and not realizing his own strength? “Sorry. Yes, I - yes, can I - ”

“They seem to think that family is more important than physics,” Crowley said, pulling out a stack of passes.

Castiel froze halfway through shoving his stuff into his backpack, his mind repeating a mantra of _don’t say anything lucifer don’t tell them who I am_.

“You’ve got to do page 316, questions 36-39 for homework,” Crowley said, sticking the cap of a pen in between his teeth. “Go see your brother.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you.”

He took the pass and speedwalked out. He pulled out his phone and texted Dean. Lucifer’s awake. I’m going to see him - can’t meet you in the library after school, sorry.

Dean texted back thirty seconds later. totally fine. go see ur brother. see u later :)

Castiel sighed as he turned his lock to open his locker - 8-18-9 - easy to remember since it was his birthday, backwards. Dean was going to get his phone taken away from him someday because of how much he loved to text Cas during class.

He pulled on his coat and took out the folders he needed for that night’s homework, then close to ran through the hallways and out the main office.

The hospital was within walking distance of the school, so Castiel jogged there, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, repeating _don’t tell them don’t tell them_ over and over in his mind. Then, standing in front of the automatic revolving doors of his hospital, Castiel was brought up short by how _selfish_ he was. His brother was recovering from a fire and all Castiel could think about was how Lucifer might betray his secret - maybe without even knowing that it was a secret.

He filled his head with _Lucifer’s alright!_ and bounded in the front door. The receptionist looked up as he approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“I’m here to see Lucifer Novak?” Castiel said, taking a quick note of the cross dangling around her neck.

She tried to surreptitiously cross herself as she looked up the name. She failed. “You are?”

“His brother,” Castiel said, his fingers clenching on the counter. “What was that you just did?”

She looked up at him innocently. Blue eyes wide. “What was what?”

“Did you just _cross_ yourself?” Castiel asked.

Her face twitched. “No. Your brother’s in room 563, on the fifth floor, down the hallway straight ahead from the elevator.”

Castiel walked off, separating his fingers from the plastic counter. As he turned around in the elevator, he noticed the massive gouges in exactly the place where his fingers had been.

The doors closed.

.

Castiel knocked quietly on the door of 563. “Come in,” Michael’s voice called out.

Castiel entered, saw Anna’s stony face sitting in the corner, Gabriel’s smirk leaning against the wall, his parents standing by the window, and Michael sitting by Lucifer’s weak, wan, smile. “Hello.”

“Castiel,” his mother said.

“How are you, Lucifer?” Castiel asked, taking the other chair beside the bed.

“Been better,” Lucifer rasped. “Thank you for showing up.”

“Don’t talk,” Michael murmured. “It’s only going to hurt your throat.”

Lucifer smiled weakly, and pointed to the cup of water on the tray. Castiel handed it to him, and his brother took a drink, then handed it back.

Castiel took the cup, but as he put it down, he felt the folded-up paper that had been handed over with it. He enclosed it in his hand. “I, uh, I didn’t get a chance to go to the bathroom at school. Could I just go really quickly?”

His father nodded. “The bathroom is down the hall.”

Castiel got up and quietly left.

Safely locked in the bathroom stall, Castiel unfolded the slip of paper.

_Castiel,_

_I spoke with Anna about seeing your eyes in the mask of the hero that rescued me, the Winged Vigilante. She confirmed that it’s you. I will not betray your secret if you do not want me to, but I would like to thank you for what you did._

_Lucifer_

Castiel sighed and folded the note up, putting it into his pocket. He would burn it later.

He returned to the room and as he raised his hand to knock, Anna opened the door. “Castiel, I need to talk to you.”

Castiel glanced into the room to where Lucifer was watching him. He gave his brother a nod, a silent thank you.

“Anna,” he said. “Yes.”

“So Lucifer knows,” she murmured as they walked along the hallway.

“I know he does,” Castiel answered.

“And does Dean?”

“Of course not,” Castiel said. “Anna - ”

“When are you going to tell him, Castiel?”

“As soon as I tell him how I feel,” Castiel said. “Which is never, Anna.”

Anna sighed. “You, Castiel, are hopeless.”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel said. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

She gathered him up in a hug. “I’m not trying to. I want you to come to your senses about both him and who you are. What you are.”

Castiel looked away. “Crime was rapant the night I looked over Lucifer. I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“It’s not your job to stop it,” Anna said.

“I have the ability to,” Castiel snapped. “If you have the chance to do something good, then you have a moral obligation to do that thing!”

Anna paused and looked sideways. “When did you watch Spider-man?”

Castiel blushed. “Dean made me. That line kind of stuck.”

Anna let out a quick breath. “Damn it, Castiel. That’s fiction; you aren’t Peter Parker.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Castiel asked. “It’s true. I have the ability to save people. I have a moral obligation to save those people.”

“Everyone has the ability to save someone,” Anna said. “You’ve probably got enough karma built up that you could get wherever you want if- I mean, when, when you die.”

Castiel stared at her. “What do you mean by if?”

Anna bit her lip. “I’m just saying - you told me you heal much faster. You told me you don’t need as much sleep, although you should really get more. I did research on some famous superheroes and some of the ones working for the government right now - and - the Queen of Hell, the one with the scars - ”

“Yes, Anna, I know who the Queen of Hell is,” Castiel sighed.

“There have been records of her for a _hundred years_. And Fairy - the very pretty mixed race one - there’s _no record I can find on when she was born_. It’s like - if they aren’t killed, they can live very, very long lives.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel better,” Castiel told her.

“I don’t know where I was going with this,” Anna said. “Right. If you’d just stop putting yourself in danger - ”

“If I stopped helping people - ”

“You’d live a long, happy life!”

“As a somewhat creepy, undying man with wings,” Castiel said. “That doesn’t sound appealing, Anna.”

She pulled him into a hug and started crying. “Damn it, Castiel. I just want you to be safe.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “I am safe.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, and then added, “especially not from yourself.”

.

The aliens attacked Chicago on a Sunday afternoon, which Castiel was grateful for. He hated it when they attacked on a school day, because then he couldn’t go help. He’d see it on the news later, the aftermath, and feel terrible, because while the Winged Vigilante was sitting helplessly in Calculus, people were dying, and he couldn’t do anything.

As it was, the massive blast came while the Novaks were sitting in church, praying. Heads snapped up to look at the massive mushroom cloud blooming from the center of the city, far away.

Castiel glanced at Anna, who nodded and gripped his hand quickly. “Be safe,” she mouthed, and Castiel nodded, then slipped away down the side aisle. He usually wore black underneath whatever normal clothes he had on - just in case, but he didn’t have his mask on him.

_Stupid, stupid_ , he chided in his head, and made a mental note to keep the mask with him at all times.

He ran home in his suit jacket and khakis, getting weird looks from people around him at the kid racing at surprising speeds across sidewalks and red lights. When he reached his house, he ran around back, prayed, and jumped.

He was right. _Extra spring or something,_ he thought, gripping on to his 2nd-story window ledge and removing the screen, hoisting himself inside.

He grabbed the mask and was out of there as soon as possible, pulling off his jacket and changing into his signature black.

As he sped over his town, he noticed that the ground was shaking, still, with the massive tremors coming from Chicago. He tucked his arms in and flapped faster, steadying himself with the geese far above him.

_Don’t poop on me_ , he thought at them. Maybe he could communicate with them. Maybe he was part bird, somehow. Maybe they might understand him.

If they did, they didn’t respond, but none of them pooped on him, so that was something.

He reached Chicago thirty minutes later, dust from the air plastered to his eyelashes. He rubbed it away and scanned the area.

The Queen of Hell was surrounded by strange, five-legged creatures that looked like something out of a comic book. She spread her hands and they were blasted back, but more kept coming.

Castiel landed on one and it crumpled under his feet, splattering across the pavement. He swept one back with his wing and punched another, which flew back thirty feet.

The Queen of Hell swept her hand and more fell sideways.

Castiel killed several more and then there were no more.

“Winged Vigilante,” she said, and looked over him, coldly, appraising. “Good to see you in person.”

“Queen of Hell,” Castiel said, inclining his head. “I hope these aren’t toxic if you kill them through contact?”

“Not that we’ve found,” the Queen said, flicking her fingers. Several slammed into the side of a building. “You will be glad to hear that Death has suffered no ill consequences.”

“I am utterly grateful,” Castiel deadpanned.

“How old are you, Vigilante?” the Queen asked as Castiel delivered a roundhouse kick to one that had crept up on him. “You look young.”

“Twenty-two,” Castiel said.

“You lie,” the Queen said gently. “You’re younger. Not yet out of high school.”

“That’s - I’m not,” Castiel protested.

“Please,” the Queen laughed, thrusting her hand out as more aliens crumpled and Castiel punched two more. “Don’t test me. What are you, Vigilante? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Castiel flew up in the air as several aliens joined together right where he’d been standing and then pulled his wings in and dropped like a stone on top of them. They crunched under him. “That is none of your business.”

“It definitely is,” the Queen said, glancing down a side street. “I’m trying to recruit you here, Vigilante.”

“You won’t get me,” Castiel said.

“Hmmm,” the Queen murmured and disappeared to his other side, and before Castiel could react, yanked off his mask. He bowed his head and raised an arm to cover his face. “Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, and Castiel heard the smirk in her voice. “I’m not above playing dirty, you know,” she added, and reappeared at his other side. Castiel opened his wings. She grabbed one. “Stay, darling.”

“No,” Castiel said.

“Queen!” cried a sweet voice, and a figure coalesced in front of him.

“Fairy,” the Queen said. “I found the Vigilante.”

“And you’ll let him go, now,” Fairy said, pulling the Queen’s hand away from Castiel’s wing and smoothing down the feathers. Castiel watched out of his periphery as she tried to tug his mask away from the Queen. “Sweetheart, he’s only a child. Let him go. We don’t have to get him on our team just yet.”

“I believe that Death said - ”

“Since when have you ever listened to anything Death says?” Fairy asked, finally succeeding in tugging away the mask. She placed it in Castiel’s hands. “Vigilante, sweetheart, are you okay?”

Castiel yanked the mask over his head. “I am. Thank you.”

He turned and dropped a group of aliens sneaking up on them.

.

Eventually, the five superheroes (Dorothy, Fairy, the Queen, Death, and the Reaper) and Castiel managed to either kill the rest of the aliens or incapacitate them. Castiel’s knuckles were bleeding and his fingers felt broken; his clothes were torn and he had lost a few feathers along the way.

“We’ll send them back the way they came,” Death said in his prim voice. “Vigilante, we are grateful for your help. Now.” He moved towards Castiel quicker than breath and Castiel suspected he would have been incapacitated had Fairy not stepped in.

“Wait,” she protested. “He’s only a boy. He’s probably only a high schooler, and he’s kept his identity a secret for a reason.”

“He can’t go to the God Brigade,” Death snapped. “No. I absolutely forbid it.”

“The what?” Castiel asked, unable to help himself.

“Never mind that,” Dorothy said, her brown eyes warm. “You’re right. He should have a choice.”

“He’s coming with us,” the Reaper said.

“He is most certainly not,” Fairy said, and placed a gentle, long fingered hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel backed away from the hand and jumped, stretched his wings, and shot off. He didn’t hear the rest of what they had to say. He didn’t want to.

.

“We have been worried sick,” his mother bellowed. “ _Sick_. Where in God’s name were you?”

Castiel glanced at Anna, hoping for help. She shook her head. _Nope_ , her face said. _I want to see you get out of this one._

“I, uh,” Castiel began, trying to hide his bruised knuckles in his pockets.

The door opened and Lucifer came in, his face dirty in a way similar to Castiel’s. “He was with me.”

“And YOU,” their father yelled. “You left the church service that was for you right in the middle! Where on earth did you go? We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Castiel and I went to - ” Lucifer bowed his head. “Chicago. We wanted to see what was happening.”

Michael stared at his brother like he’d never seen him before. “You did what?” he snapped.

“That was completely irresponsible,” his father growled. “Castiel. Lucifer. Rooms. No supper. Now.”

Castiel sighed and walked away. Lucifer walked after him. “Castiel,” he said softly.

He led them both into his room and shut the door. “Thank you.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I had a hunch as to what you were doing. I didn’t want to see you get in trouble for doing the right thing.” He nodded. “I also wanted to thank you in person for saving my life.”

“You are my brother,” Castiel said. “I will always save you.”

Lucifer nodded, embraced Castiel in a loose embrace, and then left.

But it filled Castiel back up with the feelings he was dead to after killing a species.


End file.
